


When the Dust Settles

by Porcupine19



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Platonic Relationships, Unresolved Romantic Tension, newtina, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-07-20 21:24:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16145807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porcupine19/pseuds/Porcupine19
Summary: It is barely hours since Grindelwald's extradition went horribly wrong, and the dramatic and violent escape has sent shockwaves through the heart of MACUSA. For Tina Goldstein, the best solution seems to be keeping her head down, trying not to think about what she's already lost, and continuing, behind closed doors, an entirely unauthorised search that her bosses can never know about.As the world around her tries to recover from betrayal and grief, the smoke begins to clear- and Tina makes the discovery she's been hoping for. But her position is more difficult than ever, and the clock is ticking faster...





	1. Chapter 1

** 2:26 am. Major Investigation Department, MACUSA. Approximately 1.5 hours after the escape of Gellert Grindelwald from ICW custody. **

For some time, nobody spoke. The silence, heavy and brittle, was broken only by the muted clatter of typewriters, and the scratching of quills. With nothing else to do, Tina simply kept typing, more and more until her fingers were stiff and aching, filling sheet after sheet with every minute detail she could remember. Watching through rain and glass as the carriage departed; the bizarrely normal-feeling twenty minutes, before the air was shattered by the first distress call... Then, suddenly, the room erupting into a confused mess of shouting and alarms and the CRACK-CRACK-CRACK of disapparition as she waited desperately to be given something to do, anything. And then flying, hurtling through the whirlwind of rain and cold, chasing the cluster of screaming, and dark fingers, and blinding white light; pushing against the wind and yelling and- her broom? The others? Herself?- to go faster, faster, it wasn't too late, they could still reach it-

The adrenaline in her body slowly replaced by the sickening, creeping knowledge that they would not, in fact, reach it-

The single, last glimpse of him, just before he disapparated- with a smaller, dark figure everyone was saying was Abernathy- looking into the wild eyes she'd thought were Percival Graves', his sunken face full of triumph and laughter...

When, at long last, she was sure there was nothing else she could write, she let herself crumple, resting her pounding head on the cold, smooth wood of her desk. She wasn't sure what she'd rather do: fall asleep, here and now, or just curl up under the desk and cry. Nothing else- just cry. As if it could wash away this and everything else. Let it all out. Become empty.

Anything, though, was better than just sitting here. She felt like a solitary mourner, who'd somehow found herself attending a funeral for someone she'd barely even known. Well, she'd barely known Peters or Fontaine, and yet... the way Fontaine's body had looked, all twisted and crumpled... 

Her desk was right in front of Tina's; there was a gilded photo frame on it, in pride of place. In it, she could see her baby daughter. She was sticking her tongue out, and laughing.

 

At first, Tina didn't register the sound of the doors opening. She was too preoccupied, and sickened, by the thought of little Susanna Fontaine- happily frozen forever on a piece of card, not knowing that her mother was gone. She missed, too, the stillness that suddenly gripped Ranjit (who was closest to and had the best view of the doors). She only woke up when he hissed  _"Guys- it's them"_ and everyone- buoyed on by the glorious relief of finally doing something- filed into the spacious main office where President Picquery had just entered. Camila Marquez, former member of the Investigative Team and now Acting Director of Magical Security, followed quickly just behind her.

The President looked, from a distance, as regal and stately as always- but something of her usual icy composure had vanished. Her hands shook, ever so slightly, as she held them in front of her, and her breaths seemed shorter and less steady than before. Her voice, if ostensibly calm, was strangely hollow as she raised it to address the room.

"It seems inappropriate to say "Good evening", so I'll cut straight to it. Some of you will know already that a general warning has been circulated among the wizarding public, and that as soon as we adjourn I will be officially declaring a state of emergency within Manhattan." She paused, then went on: "As you will no doubt agree, the events of tonight have been both unexpected, and utterly devastating. For all of us." Her eyes swept the room and almost seemed to meet Tina's, but... no, she'd imagined it because she was exhausted, that was all.

"I am aware", Madame Picquery continued, "that most of us, myself included, are still... in the process of piecing together what-" she swallowed sharply. "What happened.

Rest assured, however, that you have all earned the gratitude of myself and our community, for what you have done- and continue to do- tonight. Every single person in this room, has surpassed expectations, and shown- incredible amounts of courage, discipline, and loyalty. And whatever happens next..." Her voice almost- almost- cracked, and Tina started a little; but the steely gaze did not waver. "Myself, and Ms Marquez, can give you no higher praise than that."

She nodded at Marquez, who stepped forward and spoke in her usual, brusque voice.

"Anyone here who was assigned night duty, your orders are to remain and finish your shift as per usual. Security systems are functioning normally, but please remain vigilant. The rest of you- go home. It's likely that all leave will be cancelled after tommorow, and your families will need reassuring. And get some rest.

As you will no doubt be aware, Aurors Hercules Peters and Eleanor Fontaine have been officially confirmed as deceased. Abrahams is currently in hospital, and reported to be in a stable condition. All employees will be notified of funeral arrangements, should anyone wish to pay their respects. That will be all. Dismissed."

The President's sharp eyes, full of a grim, cold determination, swept the room one last time. Again, for the length of a heartbeat, they seemed to focus on Tina. Then she turned, and swept from the room like a great horned serpent, gliding over troubled water.

It took a while for everyone to process their employers' words but, slowly but surely, the room emptied. The older, more experienced Aurors left the fastest, striding off with at least a semblance of purpose. The younger ones, especially the trainees, were more hesitant; they drifted towards the door slowly and aimlessly, like fall leaves that had tumbled into a pond. Tina was in the latter group. Not that she wanted to stay up in the Major Investigation Department, with its preponderance of desks and bad coffee, and disappointing lack of duvets, blankets and childhood cuddly toys.

But going home would mean returning to the silence. To the emptiness. It would mean looking up and seeing no warm, inviting light in the window; no combined smell of stew, cherry pie and periculid eu-de-parfume. No bubbling laughter. No smile of joy, and love, and welcome. No gentle, hum-like breathing to fill the silence as she huddled in the sleepy darkness of bed. Her sister had packed them in a suitcase, along with her clothes, makeup and money, and taken them- where, Tina had no idea. They'd had that argument- one of their worst ever- and the next day, she'd returned from work to find her sister gone. That was two weeks ago. In fact, Tina hadn't worried at first; Queenie often spent the night at Jacob's these days.

But when she'd gone to the Lower East Side, and found Kowalski's Quality Baked Goods all shut up- well, it didn't take a genius to work out what the two of them had done. Returning home, she'd found a note under her pillow, confirming every suspicion. She'd read it, memorised it, and thrown it in the fire. 

Of course, it had said nothing about where Queenie and Jacob had gone. Tina was sure they'd left the country- perhaps to South America, or else to Europe. (Canada couldn't be ruled out, but intermarriage was still banned there and Queenie was nothing if not a romantic.) But they hadn't sent so much as a postcard and with security tighter than a No-Maj corset, she hadn't dared to send an owl.

"Hey- Goldstein. You goin' down?"

She jumped at the sound of Red's voice, and realised she'd walked right past the elevator.

"Oh... sorry."

She just about managed to squeeze in with a dozen-odd colleagues. The goblin tapped the ground floor button, and the glass box began rattling down. Two of the trainees were whispering frantically; another seemed to be holding back tears. Tina caught snatches of things like "Interrogate everybody... polyjuice... nah, he got promoted, like, last month... down in the basement,  _uggh_... but how could anyone-"

The elevator stopped, and Tina darted to one side to let the others out. Nobody thanked her, but hurried off without a backwards glance.  _Abernathy_... she ran every encounter over in her head, trying to find some kind of sign that he could... he'd seemed more purposeful lately, perhaps... but that was natural, that was a newbie settling in...

"Hey- Goldstein." Again, she jumped.

"Uh-huh?"

"You ok, kid?"

She looked down at Red, and was touched to see something like concern in his beetle-black eyes.

"Yeah." She forced her mouth into a smile. "Yeah, I'll be alright. Just need a little shut-eye, that's all."

"Huh..."

"Goodnight, Red."

"It's 4:00am."

"Yeah, whatever. See ya."

Lit only by watery moonlight, miles above her head, the atrium seemed more like a mausoleum. Her footsteps echoed horribly as she made for the entrance, starting at every movement in the eery-looking shadows, and resisting the urge to keep one hand on her wand as the guard ran a secrecy sensor up and down her coat.

The streets of New York weren't much help. The city that never sleeps was still deceptively drowsy at this point; every loud noise made her  _almost_ pull her wand out before she realised that  _BANG_ was just a car backfiring, and those shouts were just drunk men, telling her how much better that coat- and everything else- would look on the floor.

It was a sickening relief to finally reach the old brownstone. She crept in, careful not to bang the front door, and tiptoed up the stairs. The last thing she needed was an interrogation from Mrs E about what sort of time did she call this.

The apartment, like MACUSA, was pitch-dark and grave-silent. The lights clicked on to reveal everything as Queenie had left it: the sofa, the kitchenette, the books, the dining table, the mirror (a gift from Jacob) on the living-room wall. Without her sister, fluttering about cooking and singing and refusing to take tidying up seriously, it all looked... wrong. Artificial, like a forgotten dollhouse. Even the rag-tag patterned cushions and throws Ma had loved so much- it all looked dull and stale, though maybe it was just because she felt that way herself. Hell, without that smile even the stars seemed to shine less.

_Queenie..._

_Queenie, where are you?_  


	2. Part 2

**The Next Day**

As soon as the door closed behind her Tina collapsed under the sofa, not even bothering to take her coat off, a groan issuing from her very dry, worn-out throat. The No-Maj New Yorkers had been going about their day as usual- but the second the Woolworth Building door closed behind her, anger and panic and confusion and schadenfreude had assaulted her senses in a maelstrom of complete and total uproar. For starters, it seemed as though reporters from every Wizarding publication, in every US state and country, were camping out in the atrium. She had barely managed to reach the elevator as the crowd threatened to smother her; as per Congress rules, she had replied to every query with "No comment." There had, however, been interviews. Oh boy, the goddamn interviews...

As expected, the ICW had descended on MACUSA for, as President Waterston (Ghana) put it, "Yet another emergency sessions. This place is becoming worryingly familiar"- and the President had had several extremely tense meetings with irate members of the Indigenous American Wizards' Council. When she hadn't been standing guard over these meetings, Tina had been the one in the hot seat, recounting last night in minute, exhausting detail in front of the Confederation. Several times, she'd only just stopped herself from yelling at them- without the usual combination of deep respect and paralysing fear she had of Madame Picquery, she probably would have done it. Chancellor Ebert (Switzerland), in particular, seemed to relish the chance to lay every aspect of the disaster at MACUSA's door, and at one point his questioning reduced the youngest trainee to tears. It had taken every ounce of self-control she possessed not to hex the bastard at that moment. Then there had been waiting, and more paperwork, and more waiting, until suddenly Ranjit was shaking her awake, informing her that yes, she had fallen asleep, and insisting that she go home. Tina had given in, after she'd tried to argue but been unable to string two words together. 

Besides, she thought, as she collapsed against the wall of the elevator, now she had a couple of extra hours to work on her other project...

So, rather than go take a nap, with another groan she heaved herself off of the sofa, hurriedly gobbled down some toast and a very strong coffee, and set to work.

She'd been working on this for the past three months, give or take. One of the kitchen cupboards had been emptied of pots and pans, and she'd been filling it with files- and then filling those files with photographs, newspaper articles, maps, and pages and pages and pages of scribbled notes and lists and plans and theories. She'd have actually rather liked to pin it all on the living room wall, with lots of brightly coloured threads and things- like in the MID main office- but her practical side had shut down this idea. Things would get very awkward, very fast, if Mrs Espacito had come knocking and seen a wall full of moving pictures, and articles about terror threats from dark wizards.

For the past three months, then, she'd been steadily building this collection, cutting out and adding to it every new scrap of information she gathered. And every night, she'd pour over it- scanning, reading and re-reading, frantically searching every page for any clue, any tiny little bit of intel- anything that might help her to find him.

To find Credence.

That was it. That was the one thing she wanted- well, now that and Grindelwald's recapture- the thing that had kept her up at night. Find Credence. Find him, and help him, and keep him safe. If he'd let her.

(Unless Newt was wrong. But she couldn't think about that. No, Credence was alive. He had to be, he had to.)

At first, she'd been furious.

"And you're telling me this now, Newt? NOW?" It was about 12 hours since the Incident.

Newt had at least had the grace to look ashamed of himself. 

"Look- Tina, listen to me- I only said he might be. I didn't even see him, not in human form, it was just a small piece of his obscurus. Just sort of, well, floating-"

"But you said- Newt, you said it was moving! With direction, like it was trying to-"

"Trying to reconnect with its host, yes. I just... I just didn't want to give you false hope, Tina."

The concern in his voice had thrown her off balance. A second later, she wanted to slap herself.

"Ok. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. It's just- oh, William..." For a second, she understood just how desperate Morrigan had felt all those years ago, the first time her father's name was used the way No-Maj's called on God. Tears started coursing down her cheeks; she wiped them hurriedly on her sleeve. "Newt- if you're right, if he's still alive... he could be anywhere. Maybe he's badly hurt. And even if he's not he'll be alone, and terrified, or the Aurors might find him, or-" A sob lodged in her throat as a thousand awful, horrible possibilities hurtled around her mind. The touch of a rough-skinned, gentle hand brought her back to reality: Newt Scamander, his eyes full of worry, not quite meeting hers, tentatively offering her a handkerchief. She took it with a mumbled "Thanks".

"I'm sorry, Tina. You're right, I should have said something. It's just it all happened so quickly- and then, you know, all those debriefings and whatnot. And Queenie..." They stood in miserable silence for a moment, thinking of Jacob's large, kind face slowly turning blank as the rain washed the past 48 hours away. And Queenie... oh, Queenie. Tina had held her for hours as she sobbed into her shirt; at this point, she was curled up in bed, the cup of tea Tina had brought untouched. (Or maybe that was just because Tina's drinks were terrible.) "I knew you'd want to look after her. And you know, I didn't just leave it on the back-burner, I've been thinking all day about where we should look. Have you got a spare bit of parchment anywhere?"

And so it had begun. The whole week before Newt had left they had brainstormed, and searched, and searched some more. And Tina had kept at it in every spare moment, refusing to give up- the mere thought of it was sickening- even though her efforts so far had been fruitless.

She'd looked everywhere she could think off. She'd tracked down every place- under bridges, in parks- where homeless No-Majes went to sleep. and in the few substandard shelters New York had to keep them out of such places. She'd searched in hospitals, then asylums, then asked at police stations, then done a considerable amount of breaking and entering to scan court records. (Fortunately, it had not been necessary to do the same at the local jails.) It had never occurred to her that the city had so many places where she'd be so relieved not to find him. The worst false alarm had been about a month ago, when an article in the Herald had made her blood run cold: unidentified dark-haired young man, body pulled out of the Hudson, police seeking information. As it turned out, the poor soul in the morgue had borne only a passing resemblance to Credence- but the whole episode had only strengthened her resolve to find him, and quickly. She'd even searched the remains of the Second Salem Church (as far as the neighbours were concerned, there'd been a gas explosion), just in case the boy had fled to the only shelter he'd known. But she'd found nothing.

She hadn't dared to keep Newt informed of all this. It was way too risky- how many times had she gotten a lead because a letter had been intercepted- and none of his own letters had posed the question.

Then, of course, his letters had stopped. No warning, no explanation- they'd just stopped, just like that. At first she'd made excuses: he was busy with work, after all he had all those creatures to take care of. Or maybe he was finishing his book. Oh, it's been published- well, he must be busy promoting it. And of course, it had been an overnight bestseller- she could easily imagine that for Newt, all the attention would be a lot to deal with.

But the silence had just kept on, and on, and on. Her somewhat passive-aggressive letter, asking if everything was ok, had gone unanswered. 

And then she'd seen it. The photograph, casually tucked away in the culture section of the New York Ghost. Tina had instantly recognised the young woman smiling serenely into the camera, standing very,  _very_ close to a Newt, her hand resting intimately on his arm. And when she looked closer, Tina had seen the glitter of a ring. A diamond ring. On the fourth finger of her left hand. 

Well... she supposed that gave him a pretty good reason not to write to some random woman across the Atlantic. And it would certainly explain why he'd never come back to New York, and delivered that book "in person". Like he'd promised. 

Well, to be fair he hadn't exactly  _promised_. It had only been a suggestion. Clearly, he'd reconsidered. Which was fine- people were allowed to change their minds. And he'd done so much already- saved her life, helped her get her job back- it wasn't like he  _owed_ her anything...

And besides- look at them both. The woman in the photograph: beautiful, confident, poised. And then, look at her. Unwashed brown hair, haggard eyes, an awkward way of walking and her nose was  _definitely_ too big. Nothing but a useless, dumb, boring, uptight- hell, her own little sister had gone and chosen a man over her. Why would Newt Scamander- famous magizoologist, bestselling author- travel halfway around the world, just for more awkward silences and misunderstandings with her, when he had-

When he had a woman like Leta Lestrange to keep him at home.


	3. Part 3

The sound of a car horn outside jolted her back to reality.

 _Enough, Tina. That doesn't matter now. Just focus on Credence._ She gulped down some water, and briskly turned back to the job at hand.  _Please_ , she pleaded inside her head to Morrigan, Mother Nature, the Hebrew God her grandparents would have prayed to.  _Please let me find something. Please._

There was nothing useful in that day's newspaper, which in any case was devoted to the Grindelwald debacle. Credence was mentioned, but only briefly. It was like having an ice-cold stone dropped into her stomach, seeing a stranger write of Credence's "death" as casually as if he'd been a spout of bad weather. Temporary, a minor inconvenience. Not that important. Easily forgotten. _Well,_ _not by me. Not ever._

She glanced at her watch, a cute little sorry-you're-leaving gift from Beryl downstairs, now worn where that vile Admonitor bracelet used to be.

10:00pm.

She could go another hour before bed, easy.

Trying to rub the ache out of her head, she pulled an older file towards her and started combing her way through December's papers. None of them had mentioned incidents that might suggest Obscurus activity, but just in case she'd missed something...

But once again, she had no luck- and it was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open. She poured herself another glass of water, muttered  _"Astricto"_ and took a sip of the now freezing liquid. As she drank, she let her eyes drift over a lively photograph, under an article entitled  _Vaschenko Under Fire: Russian Minister Responds to Claims of "Lax Anti-No-Maj Security" At Wizarding Circus_. The top corner contained a picture of a poised but harried-looking Oksana Vaschenko, the Russian Minister for Magic. Tina skim-read the article: a wizarding circus had rocked up in Moscow; its owner Mikhail Skender (also pictured, also Russian: large, beard even more ridiculous than Grindelwald's moustache, stick up his ass the size of a Silver Arrow) had made the... questionable decision to advertise to both wizards and No-Majes. Luckily, there hadn't been any serious incident- Russian No-Majes, it seemed, were happy to mistake complex charms for clever sleight-of-hand, and the "Maledictus" for a snake-charmer dabbling in illusionism. Still, after Grindelwald's capture the ICW had been their most paranoid yet, and a whole bunch of people- Picquery, Eberstadt and Ya Zhou all in agreement for once- had angrily told Vaschenko that another Statute of Secrecy breach was the last thing they needed right now, thanks very much. Vaschenko had gotten off with a strongly-worded but minor reprimand and the Circus Arcanus had disappeared, only to pop back up in Krakow a week later.

For a few moments, Tina stared at the picture. She was perfectly used to moving photographs, of course- the way people in No-Maj pictures just  _sat_ there, all stiff and frozen, was honestly creepy- but they were always fun to watch. The photograph showed a vast circus tent, painted in brightly coloured stripes, snow tumbling in all directions around it. Vendors moved throughout the crowd that filled the paved square, carrying smoking trays and cups. Tina couldn't be surprised, though, that the ICW had gotten angsty. For one thing, it was way too obvious that the swathes of fairy lights glimmering in lines mid-air were actual fairies, and that the giant snowman had been transfigured to wave and smile at the laughing would-be spectators. And on raised platforms which had drawn small crowds of their own, several wizards were effectively fire-eating, but with enchanted snow and ice- transforming it into shapes of lumbering bears, soaring eagles and skipping children with elaborate gestures, making it dance and flow through the air in loops and spirals, as though it were light or liquid. According to the article, the Circus had left the U.S. in November; well, there was no way they could have gotten away with all  _that_ in Central Park. 

Then again, the crowd in Moscow didn't seem to mind. Every face was flushed with anticipation, everyone chatting excitedly or pointing at the various delights on show. Many of the crowd were children, the parents of the youngest holding them up to see better. They giggled and laughed and clapped, some jumping to make a grab for the pretty shapes. Tina smiled in spite of herself.  _Mary Lou Barebone, eat your non-existent heart out._

Come to think of it... she might be wrong, but she had a vague memory of seeing posters for the Circus Arcanus dotted around- in New York, right under that hag's nose.  _Ha._ But she'd assumed at the time that it was a regular No-Maj circus. Hypnotists and snake charmers were a dime a dozen in those, after all. 

Maledictus... the word rang a bell. She had a feeling it was some sort of curse, a blood malediction. Poor girl... she guessed circuses, magic or otherwise, would always be a refuge for people on the margins. The desperate. The outcasts. The cursed...

Somewhere, in the back of Tina's subconscious, a faint echo of an idea had slowly begun to grow. A quiet, half-formed thing, not made of any words or pictures, no hard edges attached. Just a feeling, spreading through her, tentatively creeping into her conscious mind. Could it be...

Was it possible that...

She took another sip of water and stared at the photograph without really looking, her mind drifting like the falling snow, thinking and wandering...

A second later, her brown eyes widened and she lept to her feet with a piercing scream. The glass tumbled from her hands, crashed to the floor and shattered; one sharp fragment stung her ankle but she barely noticed. Instead, she stood rooted to the spot, her breath frozen somewhere between her lungs and throat, staring at the picture as though daring it to rewind, because what she'd just seen couldn't be true. It just couldn't. She bent towards it again, her eyes darting over it frantically, as a voice echoed from downstairs:

 _"Tina?! Was that you?_ " Footsteps, then: "I heard screaming, child. What's going on up there?"

Tina took a deep, slow breath before responding.

"Sorry, Mrs Espacito" she called, not taking her eyes off the spot where she'd seen that familiar face. "I turned saw this huge spider and I-  _immobulus!_ (this was whispered, as she quickly tapped the picture with her wand)- I just freaked out. I-"

"Some of us are trying to sleep, young lady!"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm so sor-"

"If this was Europe ten years ago you'd be making bombs or somethin', you know!"

"Yes, Mrs Espacito..."

There was a pause, then:

"Tina."

"Yes, Mrs Espacito?" Her landlady's voice sounded odd. Different, somehow. Softer.

"There's worse things out in that world than spiders, child. Especially for a young woman. You'll need to be strong, you know, if you want to push through 'em."

"I... right. Ok. Good night, Mrs Espacito." The door clattered shut downstairs, telling her the coast was clear. She let the breath tumble out of her and collapsed back into her chair, before leaning forward to examine the now-frozen picture.

For the most part, the scene hadn't changed, except that the queue had moved forward. The crowd was still milling about, the entertainers were still dazzling them, the snowman was still waving. But Tina wasn't looking at them- all her attention was on the young man who, just for a second, had moved into view. A tall, thin young man, with a pale face and jet-black hair. But it was his eyes that made him instantly recognise him: dark, soulful eyes that looked heavy and tired, sinking under the weight of things no child- no person- should ever have to see. 

It was funny, in a painful sort of way, how obvious it was now that she was looking right at him. His hair was cut a lot shorter, framing all the sharp angles of his face, and he seemed to hold himself differently too. Then again, most of his body was hidden by a dark coat and scarf. They didn't look thick enough to adequately guard him against the cold- he wasn't even wearing gloves, poor thing- but he looked much better than she'd feared. Reasonably healthy, fairly clean, and he didn't seem to be in immediate danger. Good. 

Mercy fucking Lewis, what an idiot she'd been not to think of this, to think that Credence might have  _left_ New York. But everything had seemed to count against it: he probably never had before, he wouldn't know anyone who could help (except her and Newt, but he didn't have the address), where would he get money for travel... Well, if Skender had hired him, presumably he'd pay in work rather than cash- but hired to do what? He wasn't especially strong, she wasn't even sure if he could read... it must be some sort of manual work, though. Something backstage, where most people's eyes would skim right over him. And a circus would have loads of people, animals, big boxes- hell, masks and face-paint would be perfectly normal. As long as you could blend in, keep your head down...

Well, Credence had had more than enough practise at that.

On the other side of the room, the old grandfather clock struck eleven. She felt a twinge of pain in her head, the hurricane of thoughts screeching to a halt inside her brain. Her heart was hammering like crazy, too. Drawing some deep, shuddering breaths, she repaired the shattered glass with a wave of her wand and paced the apartment floor, thinking. Occasionally she'd double and triple-check the photograph, just to be sure- but of course, she knew full well that it was Credence. What she didn't know was what in the hell she was going to do about it.

Newt, of course, would want to help. And he was famous now, he'd have more freedom to travel and maybe all sorts of contacts... but that just meant the exact same problems. Any Dorcus could intercept and decode a letter. She'd have to-

But as soon as the idea appeared, her sensible side crushed it. If she tried to leave the country without authorisation, she'd be arrested and imprisoned, no question. And if MACUSA found out why- and Credence was corned by Aurors again- no. No, she could never let that happen. Never. Mercy Lewis, if only she'd done this three goddamn months ago- she could have taken out all her leave, Queenie could have covered for her... But now? She didn't have a doxy's chance in hell of getting so much as a weekend off. 

After all, this madness wasn't going to die down in a hurry. They'd all be pulled off regular cases, there'd be more interviews and paperwork and keeping an eye or ten on the trainees. And all the time, they'd be scrutinised 24/7 by the ICW, the President, Ms Marquez and- ugh- the press. Security would be tightened to 1000% of the max, they'd still be looking for Graves (or his body) and now, on top of that, they had to find-

She stopped dead in the middle of the kitchen, and realised that she no longer felt uncertain. Her brain and body were flooded with conviction- a hard, brutal kind, laced with fear. She knew, now, what she had to do. She had to find Credence, and she had to do it now. It wasn't a choice any more. It was her duty and she was going to do it, consequences be damned. For now, obviously, all she could do was hope that Credence was (relatively) safe where he was, that they were treating him well. Perhaps he'd made friends, maybe even learned a bit of magic. He must have learned to control his powers, that would explain the lack of incidents... Maybe, now, he was happy.

But she couldn't rely on that. Even if he was happier, he wasn't out of danger. 

Even in peacetime, she'd have wanted to track him down. Partly to check for herself that he was ok, and partly to shield him from MACUSA- and anyone else who'd feel safer with him dead, because they were bound to get wind at some point that he was still alive. But now... now, the problem was much bigger than that. To some, yes, Credence was a threat. To others- or one particular other- he was a weapon. And if she, Tina, knew that he was alive- oh, Rionach. It was only a matter of time before Grindelwald found out, too. And getting his ass kicked by the Obscurus last year wouldn't put him off, not with the sheer amount of raw power the boy carried. He'd want to track him down too, and use him to help tear down the Statute of Secrecy- and to hell with Credence's opinions on the subject. If Grindelwald couldn't talk him over to his side, he'd take what he wanted by force. That was what he did, what he'd always done.

She strode over to one of the cupboards, and pulled out a dusty black suitcase. Yes. She knew what she had to do.

She was going to go to Europe.

She was going to find Credence.

And if Grindelwald wanted to hurt him again- well, first he'd have to get through her.

(She stole another glance in the mirror, at the reflection of her gawky, dishevalled face.)

She could at least give it a try. For what it was worth.


End file.
